Greece… and not a tourist in sight: exploring the blissfully empty bays and back streets of Syros

Where have all the tourists gone, I wonder as I whiz along the coast of Syros on a moped.

Syros is in the heart of the Cyclades, a collection of islands surrounding Delos – the holiest site in ancient Greece and a religious sanctuary hailed as the birthplace of the gods Apollo and Artemis. And yet on my first morning there are only two families next to me in the crescent bay of Finikas Beach.

When I eat Greek salad and sardines at the Dyo Tzitzikia in Kini, supposedly Syros’ most popular beach, there are just two elderly Greek ladies in the sea, chatting as they breaststroke at a glacial pace. Greek is the language you hear on Syros, with only a single Englishman or Frenchman intervening.

In Ano Syros, a hilltop town dotted with chapels and founded by Italians in the 13th century – it’s still largely Roman Catholic – I see a British couple photographing a kitten. Otherwise there is hardly anyone around.

But when I take the 25 minute ferry to Mykonos I enter tourist hell. Some 300 of us disembark and we all head to the same place – the charming but impossibly busy town of Chora.

“Greek is the language you hear on Syros, with only the occasional Englishman or Frenchman intervening,” says Harry

Harry emphasizes how peaceful the island is and reveals that he only has to share the island’s Finikas beach with two families during his visit. Above is the nearby port of Finikas

The narrow, horseshoe-shaped streets are built to deflect the wind from the Aegean Sea. Now they are so crowded that it is terrible to pass by – they cannot accommodate two tourists passing each other without intimate contact. And the prices! A poor American couple was recently stung £700 for two mojitos, four crab legs and a salad.

What a relief to take the ferry back to Syros, where only half a dozen people get off – all Greeks except me.

With an area of ​​only 84 square kilometers, Syros is easy to reach by moped or on foot. Large chunks of it are blissfully empty – Syros has thankfully never gone into fashion.

How relaxing it is to stay in the capital, Ermoupoli. Built on the site of the ancient city of Syros, modern Ermoupoli was founded in the early 19th century by sailors and shipowners who named it after Hermes, the herald of the gods. And as the patron god of travelers, you could say that Hermes is the Greek god of tourists. I pray to him and thank him for making Syros a real place.

Harry visits Ano Syros (above), a hill town dotted with chapels and founded by Italians in the 13th century

With an area of ​​only 84 square kilometers, Syros is easy to reach by moped or on foot, Harry reveals. Pictured is Galissas Beach on the west coast

According to Harry, large parts of Syros are ‘wonderfully empty’. He says, “Fortunately, Syros has never gone into fashion.” Above is Ermoupoli

The island is the administrative capital of the Cyclades: real Greek life still goes on in the offices, churches, public squares and harbour.

I’m staying at the Aristide Hotel, in the richest part of old Ermoupoli, built by those shipowners in the beautiful style of the late 19th and early 20th century. It has been restored to its original classical beauty, complemented by stylish modern art in the bedrooms and public areas.

The hotel is located in a row of merchant palaces down the hill, overlooking Syros’ Little Venice – Italian warehouses by the sea and mansions in pastel colours.

During my morning walk I see no other tourist. And everywhere you walk in Ermoupoli, you are reminded of the boom of Syros a century ago. The wide, empty boulevards are lined with glittering stone and Cyclades marble – from road to curb to sidewalk. The white and gray stones are so clean that the streets look like a Hollywood movie set.

Harry writes: ‘The island is the administrative capital of the Cyclades: real Greek life still goes on in its offices, churches, public squares and harbour’

Harry stays at the Aristide Hotel, located ‘in the richest part of old Ermoupoli’. He recommends dining or drinks on the roof terrace of the Aristide (above), which offers views over Mykonos and Tinos

Aristide Hotel, located in a row of merchant palaces, has been ‘restored to its original, classical beauty’

A narrow alley in the town of Ano Syros. While there, Harry spots a British couple photographing a kitten – they are among the few tourists he encounters

Eat or drink on the Aristide’s roof terrace in the evening – I’ve got grouper that tastes like it’s been in the sea a few minutes before and there are views over Mykonos and Tinos. The islands seem to move in and out of focus – sometimes a brown blur, then a sharp, dark blue outline against the horizon.

The sea, too, is constantly changing: milky with rippling blue streaks earlier in the day, before turning purple at dusk – “dark wine,” as Homer called it in the Iliad and Odyssey.

At Asteria Beach, a ten-minute walk down the hill, there is a series of concrete platforms in the water’s edge where local children can take a dip.

I fall into the sea a few feet from them, only slightly annoyed by the thump of music from a neighboring bar.

They also like music at the Aristide, but they agreed to turn it off when I asked. I prefer to listen to the screeching swifts whirling around the blue dome of the neighboring church, Agios Nikolaos.

Across the sea, as dusk falls, I watch the twinkling lights come on in the flesh pots of Mykonos. I thank Hermes again for being here in his divine city instead.